Fruit uneaten to the seed,
A glance at the heavens
Halting inescapable rot,
Here it lays brown and withered.
A chronic flicker of a lamp
In the corner of the room
A temperament that festers
Frustrated at the change of endeavours,
Waning moons missing pieces,
Resentful, longing for the sun
Indescribable hunger for a glimmer
over torrential nights,
Yearning like a fire
Begs to be fed
Reaching out to darkness
The bed, now half slept.
Restlessness crawls within bones
A tormenting
Unrelenting
Wind in the cold,
A soft low hum within the safety of four
Walls,
An unrecognisable sound
Without an ear, joyful to be here at all.
Fruit will soon bitter with frosty mornings,
Unnurtured,
I plant myself in grounds
Sullen with the season.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 4:51 PM UTC
my heart is filled
to the brim
with
the sweet nothings,
that dance merrily
upon
my tongue.
they yearn for you,
can you see them?
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 9:34 PM UTC
flowing hair,
crowned with white and
yellow flowers
by boredom now
entangled by the summer breeze
I wear a dress,
and upon my thighs
is a book,
stained with my now drying tears.
my dimples gleam in the bright sun,
my heart as pure and light
as the white dogs tumbling
playfully around me
serenity in my heart,
you on my mind,
this is how it should be.
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
I can be unreasonably passionate
about nothing or something
consisting of
simple touches, small gestures,
even certain words.
but when I began to find
that even the
sweetest looking apples
were almost always sour
everything changed.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC
I want to learn a new language that I can forget you in.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 8:26 AM UTC
just a glimpse
into what happy could be
in someone’s arms
is enough to have me floating
for weeks.
the reality is,
what goes up must come down,
and I come down
every time
crashing.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC
I long for the days where her spoken words,
bring back my written ones.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
The bed is empty again.
Warmth settles in the void
now reclaimed
by neatly tucked sheet corners
and a fading memory in the mattress.
A wayward dream of soft snores
begging to come true
One pillow
recovering from a restless night,
the other
frozen like marble.
Too foreign to be disturbed.
Too real to be dismissed.
Too distant to be admired
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 3:40 PM UTC